


Big Chill

by cincoflex



Series: Helpmeet [4]
Category: Marvel Avengers Movies Universe, The Avengers (2012)
Genre: F/M, Humor, Pregnancy
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-10-07
Updated: 2013-08-03
Packaged: 2017-11-15 19:09:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 18,694
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/530709
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cincoflex/pseuds/cincoflex
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Cynara Sigyn-Laufeyson has nine months to get through; will she manage?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

It was difficult to wait those first few weeks; Cynara had never been a patient person, and living with this little secret every hour of that time made it all the more irritating, particularly when Phil Coulson made it a point to see her the minute she got back from the Torden Stein.

“The boss says you were harassed,” he began in that soft voice of his, arms crossed. “We’re going to want a statement so we can move on this.”

She looked at him for a second, not comprehending, and then blushed a little as the events with Rudi Grunst came back to mind. “Oh. It’s been taken care of, Phil.”

It had, too. When she’d gotten back to camp, Fress at her heels, Rudi was compiling data, his whole attitude completely desiccated of lust, his entire focus on the job. Everyone else picked up on it too; tensions relaxed as it became unspokenly clear to all that Doctor Grunst had undergone some serious change of persona while out with Cynara at the stone; a change for the damned better.

Trini Hessel had sidled up to Cynara in the kitchen later and given her a sidelong glance. “I don’t know if you tasered him in the testicles or what, but my husband and I both thank you,” she whispered, grinning.

Back in the here and now, Phil merely stared at her, and Cynara sighed. “Seriously Phil—it’s over. We don’t need to _do_ anything.”

He kept staring at her patiently, and she fought a squirm. Phil Coulson could outwait a gargoyle at times, and given what she was holding back right now . . .

“Phil,” she began, trying not to sound impatient or annoyed, even though she was both, “occasionally things do work out, even without S.H.I.E.L.D. intervention.”

“I know,” he replied without missing a beat. “The fact that I’m alive bears that out. I think there’s more to it, though.”

Cynara tried to laugh it off. “You’re always suspicious.”

“I’ve had my share of hunches that paid off,” he replied, only the tiniest hint of a smile at one corner of his mouth, “and you can’t bluff worth a damn, ‘Nara. I looked at Grunst’s files; I _know_ he was a serial misogynist with complaints against him going back over ten years. A man like that doesn’t change overnight, not even through intimidation. Best I can figure is some sort of mind-wipe, or maybe in this case a libido-ectemy. Not too many beings who can do that trick, but I can think of _one_ off-hand.”

Cynara felt herself pale a bit; damn Phil for being sharp. She should have known he’d take her emails seriously. “Yeah well if anything did happen—and I’m not saying it did—you can see Grunst is alive and doing his job and not bothering anyone anymore, so that’s a win-win, right?”

He looked at her for a few beats longer, then unfolded his arms and sighed quietly. “In the scheme of things I suppose you have a point, but the fact that someone who _should_ be in Asgardian custody is out there, loose---that’s not exactly happy news, ‘Nara.”

“Shouldn’t you be asking _Thor_ about this?” she replied, hoping to re-direct that intent gaze. “You know, the one who escorted him up there?”

“He’s not his brother’s keeper,” Phil remarked, and gave a little sigh. “Look, I know you love your husband, and this case, yeah, he probably did womankind a favor by giving Grunst a permanent saltpeter treatment, but there’s still a heck of a lot of Manhattan that hasn’t forgotten what Loki’s capable of.”

“I know that,” Cynara grumbled. “ _This_ was just . . . a personal matter.”

His gaze was still unnerving, but finally Phil smiled. “It may be the only one I ever approve of, too. Just . . . be careful, right?”

It had been on the tip of her tongue to tell him then; Phil was her friend and she trusted him, but Cynara held back, feeling the weight of S.H.I.E.L.D. all around them.

*** *** *** 

Later, while shopping, she stocked up on pre-natal vitamins, and slipped two different pregnancy tests into her cart, hiding them under a mesh sack of Clementines, in her embarrassment. Luckily the cashier wasn’t one of the regulars, so there were no comments or significant looks as the groceries were scanned and paid for with cash so the transaction couldn’t be traced although the six plastic tubs of lemon grass earned her a raised eyebrow.

“For my pet, at home. He’s spoiled,” Cynara muttered. Sven-the-Fress certainly was, given his appetite. Still, he seemed to take to the currycomb and brushes well, and his coat was a silky beauty when she put in the time.

At home she gave Sven one of the tubs of lemongrass to chomp on, and carefully took the first pregnancy test kit with her into the bathroom. Five minutes later she stared from the stick to her own reflection in the mirror, smiling and red-eyed, at a complete loss for words. 

Yes there was the simple logical thought process: _my husband the intergalactic rogue has assured me I am pregnant with a daughter_ and then there was the overwhelming emotional reality of _Holy SHIT I’m having a baby and it’s going to be an Asgard/Human/ hint of Ice Giant hybrid!_

Surreal. That was the only appropriate word for it. Cynara wandered into her living room and dropped herself onto the sofa there, unable to think coherently for a moment. Through the picture window she could see Mrs. Calufrax across the street, cranky and old as ever. Twilight was just beginning and the lovely rose and gold of the sky looked gorgeous.

Cynara thought about babies, and realized she didn’t know much. Oh she knew how they were made of course, and a general idea of how they grew in the womb, but the whole process suddenly seemed ridiculous and frightening and honestly? Bizarre. She had a picture of millions of sperm each with Loki’s horned helmet on, ambushing an egg that sauntered along . . .

This set off a series of hysterical giggles, and she found herself clinging to one of the pillows on the sofa, caught between crying and simply curling up in a ball for the rest of the night. Neither would be particularly comforting or helpful, so she took a breath and reached for her phone.

The number rang, and a sweet voice answered. “Nara? How are you, sweetie?”

“Hey mom,” Cynara murmured a little breathlessly. “Could I come over tomorrow? I need some advice.”

“You’re always welcome, you know that!” her mother chided. “I have a match around five, but if you can stay the night that would be wonderful honey!”

“Oh I can be there in time to watch,” Cynara murmured happily. “Who are you going against?”

“The Helena Handbaskets,” her mother replied. “They’re up and coming, but me and mine will wipe the rink with them.” Cynara heard the happy little growl in her mother’s tone and grinned to herself. 

“Ah yes, the Hot Flashes,” she snickered. “Still terrorizing the rink?”

“We don’t terrorize,” her mother primly rebuked her, “We _annihilate_ , and if you get here early enough I’ll even rotate you in.”

“Pass,” Cynara sighed. “No more cracked ribs or coccyxs for me, thanks.” They chatted a bit more and Cynara hung up, still trying to figure out how best to break the news to her mother.

She slept restlessly that night, dreaming of being pursued by huge bowls of banana pudding. Briefly Loki passed through her thoughts, not speaking, but his gaze intimately sweet, and Cynara found herself profoundly sad to wake alone in the morning.

Sad that is, until she came downstairs to find three huge wooden kegs of mead on the kitchen table. 

The scent of honeyed fruit nearly made her dizzy, and Cynara pulled the rolled parchment that was pinned to the nearest keg with a splinter of gold, setting the needle down as she unrolled the page.

The runes formed words easily thanks to Odin’s gift, and she smiled at Loki’s elegant script. _My Bride: greetings. A goblet a day will nourish and protect the life within you. Until you are in my arms again—Loki, Laufeyson._  
She sniffed, feeling her stomach settle a bit more, and when Cynara recognized the scent she laughed, the sound filling the kitchen. It took only a moment with one of the big kitchen knives to pry up the top of the first keg, and another one to dip a tumbler in. 

The pale gold color gleamed in the light as she studied it. “Husband,” Cynara sighed, “to you.”

The banana pudding flavor hit her palate and she savored it.

*** *** *** 

It went better than she thought. Her mother took one look at her and screeched like a happy cockatoo. “OH MY GOD YES!”

“Mom!” Cynara gulped, hurrying over. “Stop!”

“YOU’RE PREG—” Tilly Wolfe didn’t get to finish her bellow; Cynara clamped a hand over her mother’s mouth. Slightly hurt, Tilly rolled her eyes reproachfully as her daughter sighed.

“Mom, yes, I am, but we need to be very . . . discreet about this, okay? I don’t want anyone but you and Harry to know for the moment.”

“We’re the only ones that matter!” her mother pointed out gleefully. “Oh honey! You and Loki’s baby is going to be gorgeous! With his long legs and his smile and his eyes . . .”

“And _my_ \--?” Cynara demanded, amused and annoyed. Clearly her husband had made an impression on his mother-in-law, despite the partial memory wipe.

“Well your brains and giggle and hair of course!” her mother finished. “You both have terrific genes you know. So how far along are you? How does Loki feel about it? Do you want a boy or a girl?”

“Not long; he’s thrilled; it’s a girl,” Cynara replied. She opened the fridge and inspected the contents for a moment, bypassing the beer and going for a bottle of tea instead. “I’m going to need a pediatrician though. I was sort of hoping to find one out here in Perth Amboy.”

The further from New York the better, she hoped. Everyone at S.H.I.E.L.D. HQ knew she didn’t like doctors and Cynara hoped to be able to use that as an excuse should anyone ask. Her mother pushed a platter of muffins towards her.

“Josephine Finkle; her mother’s on the team. Josie’s an OBGYN with one of the satellite clinics,” Tilly smiled. “Oh honey I’m so thrilled! I’ll go call and see about getting you an appointment.”

Cynara took her tea out to the back yard and watched her step-father, who was clipping the back hedge. He gave her a nod and a smile. “So. Given Tilly’s yelling, I’m going to assume you’re, ah, in the family way?”

“On the money.”

“Good to know. Mazel Tov.”

“Thanks,” Cynara grinned and accepted his quick hug. “Mom’s going to be a bit hyper for a while.”

“No shit. Still . . . she’s happy, and you’re happy, so it’s good,” Harry told her with a shrug. “Your hubby . . . he’s pleased too?”

“Right now,” Cynara smirked, “he’s over the moon.”

Harry relaxed a little and nodded. “Guys can get that way yeah.”

They chatted a bit more and Cynara made her way back into the house, amused at how well her parents were taking the news. Her mother had never made any bones about wanting grandchildren, but it was heartwarming to see that Harry was pleased as well.

Matters were off to a good start, and that helped her relax a bit.


	2. Chapter 2

Josie Finkle was a chubby little woman with fluffy dark hair and the deepest dimples Cynara had ever seen. Her calm demeanor and busy office said a lot about her competence, and Cynara felt comfortable around her from the first moment. They went through all the pre-screening preliminaries, and it was only when they were alone in the exam room that Cynara pulled a file folder from her purse.

“Before I give you this, I need to know if you _want_ to take me as a patient,” she murmured. “This isn’t . . . well, it’s not your usual pregnancy.”

Doctor Finkle blinked, and gestured to the file. “What’s that?”

“Very, very classified,” Cynara muttered. “But sort of important, Doctor Finkle.”

“Classified? Oh yes, your work. Apparently your mother says you do very hush-hush stuff with, um runes,” Doctor Finkle smiled. “For some big government agency.”

“She’s right,” Cynara nodded. “And I’ll warn you now; you’ll probably get a visit from some agents pretty soon, whether or not you accept me as a patient. This file is pretty much the keystone. You can turn me down and I’ll walk out of here right now, but if you’re willing to be my doctor, then you’re going to need this information, Doctor Finkle.”

There was no hesitation; Josie Finkle held out her hand, her gaze steady. “Hand it over then; this I’ve _got_ to see. What could be so all-fired secret . . . .”

A few seconds later she blurted, “Holy _shit_! Extraterrestrial DNA?”

Cynara said nothing and let the doctor finish scanning the pages; when Doctor Finkle was done she started again, and then glanced at Cynara, her brown eyes huge. “Ooookay, I am SO in! Wow! From what I’m seeing in all this paper, you’ve got a little something different going on in the genetics department, and your husband is . . . not from around here, is that right?”

“Yep. That’s pretty much it. I expect you’re probably going to need to sign a hell of a lot of non-disclosure forms and all the tests and data you collect on me will end up going through S.H.I.E.L.D. as well, but on the other hand you’ll be on the front line of pretty unique pregnancy and birth.”

“ _Said_ I was in,” came the absent reply as Doctor Finkle noted something on her diagnosis pad. “I’ve wanted to deliver an extraterrestrial baby ever since I watched Dana Scully with Baby William.”

Cynara gave a crooked grin. “Yeah well you just might get your wish. I’ll try to get you what info you want on the father, but I can’t guarantee anything on that front.”

“We’ll work with what we can get,” Doctor Finkel nodded, trying to look serious and professional, but failing as her eyes twinkled. “In the meantime, let’s go for the standard exam here and see how things look.”

Things in fact looked fairly normal for the next twenty minutes, and then there was a call over the room intercom from the receptionist out front. She sounded . . . nervous. “Doctor F, there are . . . two gentlemen here to see you. They’re very insistent. Very.”

“That’s . . . probably S.H.I.E.L.D.” Cynara sighed. “I did mention them, right?”

“You did,” Doctor Finkel agreed, slightly indignant. “Let me go find out what this is all about.”

Before either one could move, however, the exam room door opened. Phil Coulson stepped in.

“Excuse me, this is private!” Doctor Finkel interjected. 

Then Thor stepped in behind him.

“Whoah,” came the doctor’s reaction as she looked all the way up the Asgardian’s impressive bulk to his beaming face. “Biiiig.”

“’Nara,” Phil murmured, looking a little hurt, and she sighed at his expression.

“I wanted to tell you but I needed to be sure _first_ ,” Cynara admitted. “And after your speech about how something like this could shift the paradigms of power you can’t blame me for being . . . scared.”

“Cynara Sigyn, wife of my brother,” Thor rumbled, “This is momentous news!” He smiled at her and stepped forward, dropping to one knee in an oddly formal gesture completely incongruous to the exam room setting. “Is what the Son of Coul says true? You are with child?”

“Yes,” Cynara nodded. “I am.”

Coulson sighed, but Thor raised his arms and beamed. “A joyous day indeed!”

“Okay, not to be a party pooper, but who ARE you two?” Doctor Finkel demanded. “I’ve got every right to call the cops you know.”

Phil handed her his badge while Thor rose up and lightly rested his big hands on Cynara’s shoulders. “Sister, you have my hammer to defend you and your child; this I pledge.”

Cynara blinked up at him, her emotions in a churning whirl. “You, you’re happy? Wait, you’re _happy_ about this?”

“Of course!” Thor beamed again, which was dazzling in such a small room. “For all the mating we of Asgard do, breeding is rare and precious!”

“Mating?” Doctor Finkel looked up from the badge, her expression dangerous. “ _Mating?_ ”

“It’s a kinder euphemism, trust me,” Coulson murmured. “Doctor Finkel, I’m afraid you’re going to have to cancel your appointments for today and come with us for a briefing. We’ll see that you’re well-compensated for your time and assistance.”

“Wait, what? You just expect me to pack up for the day?”

“Yes.” Coulson told her serenely. “Your cooperation would be greatly appreciated.”

“If you are the healer my sister chooses, then honor demands your attendance,” Thor chimed in, a tiny hint of sternness to his voice. 

Doctor Finkel gave a resigned shrug. “Okay, okay, for the greater good and all that. Just let me call my partner to take my caseload. For the record, I’m lodging a protest though.”

“So noted,” Coulson nodded. When Doctor Finkel had slipped out, he turned to Cynara and gave her that familiar little smile. “Congratulations.”

There was no hint of sarcasm at all in his voice and Cynara nodded back. “Thanks.”

“So how far along . . . ?”

She was tempted to make a show of checking her watch just to see if he blushed, but instead Cynara gave a little shrug. “About four weeks I think.” That would just about coincide with her return from Barentsøya and she trusted Phil to connect the dots.

So did Thor. “When you visited my mother,” he nodded, crossing his arms and looking pleased. “A good omen indeed!”

“How did you know about that?” Cynara wondered aloud. Thor flashed a sheepish grin, the white of his teeth still dazzling.

“There are ways,” he murmured, not willing to expand. “She will be sending gifts.”

“I’ve . . . already gotten one, from Loki.”

“Iceberry mead,” Thor nodded approvingly. “Does it taste like the moon-shaped fruit here on Midgard?”

“Bananas, yes,” Cynara agreed with a smirk. “The advice was to have some everyday.”

“Mead?” Coulson questioned, looking a little concerned, but Thor gave a vigorous nod.

“It makes the womb strong, and gives health to the mother,” Thor explained. “All breeding females benefit from it, from our horses and sheep to our women.”

“Great, I feel like a four H project now,” Cynara muttered, glad that Doctor Finkel was out of the room. “Um, Phil . . . about Colonel Fury--?”

Coulson gave her a commiserating little smile. “You get to do the honors on that, but I’d lay good odds that he already _knows_ , ‘Nara.”

And that was precisely what she was afraid of.

*** *** *** 

It was terrible. Fury stared at her with his merciless gaze, his expression grim, and for what seemed like hours he said nothing. Cynara felt like a tiny little ant under the magnifying glass of his disappointment.

She forced herself to return his gaze, biting her lips to keep her chin from trembling. Cynara wondered if she had time to update her resume, and if she’d be able to get a letter of recommendation from Phil . . .

“Special Technician Sigyn-Laufeyson,” he drawled out into the quiet of the office. “I suppose congratulations are in order, although in this case it’s a bit of a mixed bag now, isn’t it?”

She couldn’t think of anything appropriate to say, so Cynara stayed silent. Fury stepped closer, his hands clasped behind his back, looking as usual; dangerous. “It was tricky enough that you _married_ the _alien_ who _leveled_ most of downtown Manhattan, but now . . .”

Cynara shot him a sidelong glance as he circled around her, still speaking. “I thought Agent Coulson made it clear to you that the family politics of the Asgard were not exactly _stable_ at the moment, and that a visit from the extraterrestrial stork would be a _bad idea_.”

“Yes sir, but in my own defense, there are . . . complications of a genetic nature,” she blurted out.

Fury’s eyebrow arched up and she took this as encouragement to continue. “As you know, I thought I was human. All human. But I’m not, and apparently my dormant Ice Giant genes got sort of woken up by Loki, rendering my birth control useless.”

“I do _not_ want to _know_ about your birth control,” Fury snapped back. “Nor do I need _any_ information about the _process_ leading to your current state, Special Technician Sigyn-Laufeyson. What I’m concerned about at the _moment_ is potential peril our _planet_ is in because of your condition.”

“Peril?” Cynara repeated. “But Thor’s happy about the baby! And I know my mother-in-law is as well and by extension, Odin too I suppose.”

“Not your _in-laws_ , woman, but the _enemies_ that your husband has!” Fury growled. “Has it ever _occurred_ to you that we’re _not_ the only group of people that he’s pissed off? And that the chance to strike at him through you is a _serious_ possibility?”

“Yes,” She mumbled. Fury paused a moment, caught off-guard by this, and Cynara gave a sigh. “Believe me sir, it was one of the _first_ things I thought of, but that’s not reason enough to terminate the pregnancy.”

“I’m not _suggesting_ that,” Fury replied in a slightly calmer tone. “That baby is your business. On the other hand, this planet is _my_ business, and I prefer to keep it out of the line of fire. In light of _that_ directive we are going to sequester you for the duration of your pregnancy.”

She’d expected this, and gave a nod. “Yes sir. I do have a few suggestions and requests however.” 

Fury gave a nod, encouraging her to continue, and Cynara cleared her throat. “First, I want my own obstetrician, Doctor Finkel.”

“Pending an interview,” Fury agreed. “Continue.”

“Wherever you put me, I want my mother and stepfather to have visitation clearance.”

Fury shrugged. “Done. Anything else?”

“Privacy when Loki visits.”

This brought a frown. “Privacy? As in no monitoring of any kind? I don’t _think_ so, Special Technician Sigyn-Laufeyson. Your husband is considered a _mass murder_ by the majority of nations and a colossal pain in my _ass_ to boot. Letting him visit is bad enough; leaving him _unmonitored_ would be an act of monumental _stupidity_ which I am loathe to do.”

“Have it your way,” Cynara murmured. “I’m fairly sure it’s going to be a lot of sex and baby-talk, so whoever does the monitoring is probably going to end up nauseated.”

The look on Fury’s face was worth it, and she had to bite her lips to keep from laughing. He pursed his mouth and gave a grumbling sigh. “Unmanned, cued for key words and threats. Report to Coulson for the particulars of your relocation.”

“Sir,” Cynara murmured, and strode out, feeling a tiny sense of relief.

She wondered if she had time for a nap before seeing Phil.


	3. Chapter 3

Outpost Nord, Saskatchewan was halfway between La Ronge and Flin Flon. Cynara had no clue that SHIELD had any installation this far north, let alone in Canada, but the stone and log mansion was pretty impressive. The place looked like a fancy ski lodge with several underground rooms as well, but for the moment the only occupants consisted of her, Sven-the-Fress and a resident cat named Miles, who seemed to be half bobcat and preferred to skulk about like a four-legged Sasquatch.

Cynara had internet, and Phil thoughtfully arranged for her entire runes lab to be packed up and transported here as well. She had visitors too; Doctor Finkel came ever two weeks by Helicarrier, Phil checked in with her almost daily via Skype, along with Thor and once, memorably, a sleep-deprived Tony Stark in his Suit on a stopover, flying around outside like a mis-colored bumble bee. He’d stopped in, chatted about FAO Schwartz, the weirdness of Canadian bacon actually being ham, and wanted to know all her favorite disco tunes before Jarvis managed to direct the Suit home again.

He hadn’t asked why she was all the way out in Canada and Cynara was grateful. In the meantime she read up on human pregnancy, worked on deciphering fragments of a recently unearthed stone from the bottom of a bay in the Lofoten archipelago, and generally got on with life, which was different now.

Gifts kept showing up. At least, she had to assume they were gifts. Some were obvious, like the woven tapestries and sacks of fresh oats, but others, like the two-headed battle axe were harder to categorize as such, although Cynara tried to take them in stride. Most of them appeared out of seemingly nowhere, bypassing all SHIELD security measures and adding a mild sense of paranoia to her day.

Still, the chill of fading winter lent freshness to the air, and she took long walks around the prairies, breathing it in. Cynara was grateful that her morning sickness was like clockwork—ten minutes at around eight AM and she was fine the rest of the day. She tired out in the afternoon but nothing too fatiguing, and her appetite as always was good. If there was anything she truly wanted though, it was Loki. Cynara didn’t dwell on it—at least not during the daytime—but after dark it was difficult not to wonder where he was and if he was safe. She tried to find him in the dream dimension but ended up wandering endlessly around the craggy hills and desolate vistas seeing nothing in the darkness at all there.

Every morning she drank a mug of the iceberry mead, which was pretty good in a smoothie, and felt the tang of it reverberate through her body. Although it was too early to sense anything of the little one within her, Cynara could definitely feel the _rest_ of her body growing stronger. Since she knew perfectly well she was being monitored she tried not to comment to herself about it—at least not aloud. Still, it was a pretty amazing day when she realized she could lift up the back end of the SUV in the garage.

It was a Saturday, and she was taking a quick walk to the north of the compound when she heard the sizzle of magic. Having been around it for a while Cynara knew the eldritch tones well and spun, looking carefully. Nothing seemed out of place along the low hills of buffalo grass, and the wind through the tufts was as melancholy as ever. Then she caught a glitter of something in a hollow and cautiously stepped forward to investigate, her hand slipping into her pocket for her cell phone.

Long, limp and unconscious—this wasn’t her husband at his best, but Cynara had bigger concerns. She slipped over to his side and reached out a hand to his face, speaking with soft urgency. “H-Husband? Loki?”

He gave a groan in reply, eyelids fluttering, and rolled his head to look at her, a quick smile bracketing his mouth. “Wife. They have tried to hide you, but our bond is a strong one, yes. This is no Ravenscroft though.”

“Ah, no,” Cynara admitted, feeling a sense of relief. He sat up, moving gingerly and she helped him. “Are you hurt? More dragons?”

“Weary only,” Loki assured her. “No one is hunting me.”

“At the moment,” Cynara prompted, looking him over.

Loki shot her a dry glance but admitted, “At the moment. However, I have been busy in the affairs of another world and sown some discord that will pay well in time. And I brought this.” From inside of his coat he pulled out a long veil of black gossamer and opals; in the warm light of the afternoon sun they looked exotic and out of place.

“Ah. Very . . . pretty,” Cynara offered. It was gorgeous, glittering as it was, draped over her husband’s hand.

“You will _wear_ it for me,” Loki told her in a low, seductive tone as he tucked it back into some inner pocket.

Cynara helped him up. “Maybe we ought to go inside first, and let you rest up?”

He nodded and as he rose Loki ran a possessive hand along the small bulge at her stomach. “She thrives.”

“She does,” Cynara assured him, leaning against Loki as they walked back towards the outpost, wondering how long it would take before his appearance was noted—probably less than ten minutes if SHIELD was up to speed.

Loki looked over the outpost and gave a grudging nod of approval. “It will suffice,” he admitted. “I suppose _your_ one-eyed king sent you here?”

Cynara hid her smile. “Colonel Fury arranged it, yes. He’s a little concerned about issues like security and planetary defense.”

“Midgard—you humans think so _highly_ of your little mud ball,” Loki scoffed. “There are worlds out there your tiny minds can never even _dream_ of!”

She froze for a second, stunned by his scorn, and a few steps later when she could finally speak, Cynara muttered through gritted teeth. “Husband, you are an insufferably elitist _prick_ sometimes.”

Loki looked slightly stunned at her comment, turning a hurt gaze towards her, eyes wide. Cynara fought the effect of his wounded glamour, striving to make a point.

“I meant no disrespect for _your_ humble origins, Wife,” he began, but Cynara reached over and gripped his chin, locking her gaze with his.

“Before you finish that sentence, think carefully; is there someone _else_ here who started out under less than all-mighty beginnings?” She watched his elegant brows draw down and a mutinous expression begin to build on his face before adding, “You’re known far and wide as the silver-tongued one, but sometimes that colossal pride of yours blinds you more than you know, Loki my love. A part of me is Hrimthur, yes, but the other part is human. Merely human. _Pitifully_ human in your eyes I guess. Well you can’t have one part of me or our daughter without the other, and you _will_ respect that or I’ll . . . I’ll . . .” Cynara trailed off, trying to think of a suitable threat.

Loki looked wary and faintly amused. “Yes?”

“I’ll cut. You. off,” she decided, and crossed her arms in an eloquent gesture that made her meaning plain.

The vexed expression that crossed Loki’s face nearly made her laugh. “Certainly not! I have _rights_ as your husband!”

“And I have rights as your _wife_ ,” Cynara shot back. “Among them is the right to be respected, so even if you _are_ sexy and adorable and smell wonderful.”

He looked at her uncertainly, caught between sulking and laughing, head slightly cocked. “Surely you would never deny me, queen of my heart. I meant no _serious_ slur against you or your world; you’ve read the legends and know how those of Asgard think.”

Cynara sighed. Loki did have a point; most of Odin’s line had the same dismissive attitude towards Earth, even if they didn’t openly reveal it. Even Thor tended to regard the planet with the sort of fondness one associated with a pet. She lifted her chin and gazed at Loki thoughtfully. “I do, but that’s an old excuse. I love _all_ of you, Loki Laufeyson and I expect you to love me the same way—the ice giant _and_ human within me equally. Is that understood?”

He dimpled a smile then; one of the devastating ones that left her weak-kneed and slightly breathless. Lightly Loki reached one hand out and cupped her cheek, his palm cool and strong against her face. “I have not yet kissed you in welcome,” Loki whispered, “and I hunger to do so . . .”

Cynara smiled against his mouth, which was warm and firm. His nearness and all it brought—his scent, his unique flavor—made her relax and Cynara happily parted her lips to his questing tongue. They kissed, winding arms around each other and when Cynara pulled back for a breath she smiled.

“Welcome back to me, Husband.”

*** *** ***

Loki liked bathing, Cynara realized. He had the fastidiousness of a cat, and hated to be seen scruffy or dirty, even after battle. She supposed that should have been a hint that he wasn’t like the other Asgardians, who seemed to take a bit of pride in the wear of battle. 

And he certainly liked personalized care, she noted as she worked her fingers through his wet hair, massaging the shampoo in. At her touch Loki gave a deep contented purr, his long arms draped down on her thighs as he leaned back against her. “I am well-pleased,” he announced to the bathroom, and Cynara giggled.

“I can tell,” she murmured. “What has you so content?”

“Much.” Loki glanced over his lean shoulder, his expression thoughtful. “You. Our child. This very bath of course.”

“Good.” Cynara reached for the hand held shower and began to rinse his hair, humming a little. When it was done, she moved to rub his shoulders, admiring the lean muscles under her hands. “I’m getting hungry though, and I’d like to go out to dinner.”

Fury would probably have a fit, Cynara knew, but what the hell—she’d been good for the last two months.

“Yes?” Loki murmured. “Some feast hall in public?”

“Precisely. I’m in the mood for . . .” Cynara paused, feeling slightly off-kilter, “Various . . . things.”

“Because you are breeding,” came the knowing and slightly smug tone. “Your appetites are changing as the little one makes her desires known. By all means let us dine, then.”

An hour later they stood in front of the reservation podium of the Jeweled Trout, waiting for the clerk there to find them a table. Cynara could see that the man wasn’t about to be helpful; he made a huge show of doing everything else while flashing the two of them a little smile that was meant to look sympathetic but came across as far too smug. The restaurant was busy yes, but not outrageously so, and Cynara could see several empty tables.

“Is this . . . typical?” Loki asked, looking resplendent in a dark grey suit and scarf. She had no idea where he’d gotten it or how he knew it was the correct attire for a night out, but it looked amazingly good on him. Next to him Cynara felt a little underdressed in her green sundress and short angora sweater, but Loki’s arm through hers helped mollify her feelings.

“Damn it. He wants a gratuity,” she realized, miffed. “It’s a cultural thing, but he’s being a jerk about it.”

“Gratuity?” Loki’s brows drew together. “Oh that can be arranged.” Before she could stop him, Loki leaned over the podium and caught the maitre’d’s wrist in a loose grip. “You wish a gift from me to speed matters along? Then consider this minor charity, whelp—I will let you keep _all_ of your fingers.”

These quiet words were accompanied by a demonic gleam in Loki’s eyes and the maitre’d, who originally had an expression of disdain froze, his complexion paling out. Having made his point, Loki let go of the man’s wrist and gave a benign smile. “Our table?”

“Th-this way sir,” the maitre’d spluttered, darting out from behind the podium and scampering like a rabbit across the dining room. 

Loki gave Cynara a sidelong glance. “A reasonable gift, yes?”

“Um, yes,” she nodded, trying not to laugh. “Very generous of you.”

“I have it within me to be benevolent,” he assured her. “As long as my demands are met in a timely and devoted way.”

She hoped he was teasing and was afraid that he wasn’t, but at least they were seated now, with menus. Cynara flipped hers open and gave a little moan of anticipation. “Oh they’ve got a cheese platter!”

“Whatever you desire. Why in Odin’s name would they offer anything that they have blackened?” Loki muttered, perplexed. “That which is burnt is to be discarded.”

“It’s a type of food. Very spicy; you might like it,” Cynara informed him absently. “I definitely want the cheese platter, and some wasabi. And chocolate.”

Loki looked up, smiling faintly. “Lovely. I shall have the same.”


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry for the delay; RL and new flooring have taken my time. Enjoy!

She hadn’t planned on eating the weird combination, but somehow, oh somehow it _worked._ Cheese and chocolate were bad enough, but adding wasabi to it drew stares from a few of the other diners, and even the waitress looked slightly askance.

“You’re sure about this?”

“Yes,” Cynara nodded through a mouthful.

Across the table, Loki beamed, looking utterly indulgent. “I have filled her womb,” he told the waitress, “and my heir within compels her even now.”

“Uhhhh,” the waitress blinked, startled. “Congrats then. Cravings, yeah. My sister had them too. I’ll just leave you guys _to_ it then . . .” she scuttled off, and Cynara swallowed, feeling the burn of the wasabi meld with the creamy cheddar and silky melted chocolate.

Bliss. Delicious bliss. She gave a happy wriggle in her seat, making Loki chuckle softly.“It meets with your approval?”

“Perfectly,” Cynara assured him. “I know it’s a freaky combo but right now, it’s what I want.”

“When I was carrying Sleipnir, I hungered for daisies soaked in beer,” Loki murmured, a hint of wistfulness in his voice. “They were delicious.”

“So you stayed in er, mare form the whole time, right?” Cynara murmured between bites. “I bet you were beautiful.”

“I stayed a mare,” Loki nodded wryly, twirling his fork. “As for my beauty, it mattered not to Svaðilfari, who was only interested my heat and my haunches.”

Cynara gave him a lingering look; he blinked at her and nodded, encouraging her question.

“Husband, did you _know_ you’d . . . get pregnant? I mean from what I’ve read I know you were being threatened with death if you didn’t prevent the builder from finishing the wall, but offering yourself that way . . . seems like a serious risk.”

Loki leaned back, his expression thoughtful, and for a moment Cynara could see the melancholy memories deep in his eyes.

“You are the _first_ to ever ask me anything about it,” he murmured. “And no, I did not know if I would catch or not. It was great fun to trick those fools in the hall, making them frantic as each day the wall around Asgard came closer to being finished. So proud they were, soooo fearful that they would have to give up the sun and the moon and Freyja in their foolish agreement. Of course when they found out I’d been giving aid they threatened me with death . . .”

Her fingers reached for his across the table and she squeezed lightly, making Loki smile. “Oh they _always_ threaten me with death. How do you humans put it? I don’t play well with others.”

“No,” Cynara agreed, “but that’s part of your charm too I suppose. So you figured you’d lure Svaðilfari away by temptation?”

“It seemed the quickest and most effective way. I’d planned to outrun him and simply keep him away from the wall, but he was faster and very . . . determined.” Loki shifted a bit, and for a second Cynara saw a hint of something hunted in his gaze now, something bleak.

“Oh God,” she whispered, a cold flush crossing her face. “You . . . it _wasn’t_. . . consensual, was it?”

Loki shook his head impatiently. “I offered; he took. Both of us were driven by the desires of our bodies and I will not slander him for following what his instinct urged him to do.”

Cynara waited a long moment and added, “Still . . .”

“Still it was painful,” Loki admitted. “Though my body was female my mind, my thoughts, my inner self was still male. When that long, long night was done I made my way to a small grove and kept myself hidden from everyone. I tried to shift back, but my body would not do it; having Svaðilfari’s get within my womb would not allow the change. Eventually my mother found me and brought me to the stables. She cared for me through my bearing, and was there during my lying in, short as it was compared to what yours shall be.” He paused a long moment and added, “I will never call Odin my father, Wife, but for that time of love and care she who is wife to him, Frigga--she shall _always_ be my mother.”

Sniffling, Cynara let her fingers lace with his and nodded.

*** *** ***

He was quiet on the drive back, and Cynara hoped she hadn’t brought on a sense of melancholy along with the memories. The richness of night brought forth a lovely view of the stars, and she hummed a little as they pulled into the compound. Loki flashed her a brief smile and came around to her as they both got out of the car.

“What ballad is that? Some saga of an ancient hero on a quest?”

“Not quite,” she laughed. “I don’t think _Hotel California_ fits either of those.”

“It sounds rather melancholy,” Loki offered, slipping an arm around her as they moved towards the building. “I have _been_ a lodger is such a place.”

“Really?” she countered, fishing out her passkey. “I didn’t know that.”

“A grim fortress where the very walls were steeped in madness and ancient gods of another realm wait to conquer the minds of those trapped there,” Loki shuddered. “There is a price for powerful magic, and the payment comes dear.”

His words held a hint of something that made her turn to him in the semi-darkness, and a faint ruby glow to his eyes startled her. “Loki?”

“Let me hold you,” he rumbled in a deep tone, and she pulled him to her as they passed into the lodge. Cynara snuggled against him, and her newly charged senses let her breathe in the mint and sage of his skin and feel the strong beat of his heart as she pressed her ear against his chest.

“My Sigyn,” he sighed. “The only constant in the chaos of it all. Out of the darkness there is you, a light for me.”

She gave a soft sigh and herded him inside. “You’re getting all weldschmirtz on me babe. Are you all right?”

Loki gave a chuckle. “I am; perhaps this conception is starting to affect my thoughts more than I realized. Rutting is a simple matter; throughout the universe the drive is everywhere, another element of disorder that lights the stars and binds the winds. Becoming a _parent_ is a different matter, though. My life has been my own for a very long time, Beloved, and my ambitions have been filtered through that solitary view, so this sudden shift to include you and the little one takes time and patience for me.”

Cynara snuffled against his tie. “I understand . . . at least part of it. I worry about making mistakes, about not being able to handle this responsibility.”

Loki made a soft dismissing noise in her hair. “You are far more responsible than I ever shall be. I suppose I was destined to be drawn to you since you balance my capacity for turmoil.”

“Was that a declaration of love?” Cynara smirked, raising her face to look up at him. The moonlight gleamed against his cheekbone and the faint ruby of his gaze held hers.

“I prefer deeds to words,” Loki murmured, and picked her up.

He made it clear that he was in charge, and Cynara had no objection to that at all, letting Loki carry her through the dark lodge to the bedroom. Once there he gently laid her down and leaned over her, flicking open her sweater and lightly brushing his fingers along Cynara’s collarbones. She shivered at the coolness of his fingers and the gentleness of his touch.

“You hold so much more warmth than I do,” Loki marveled. “We are such opposites, Wife. Male to female, chill to warmth, kindness to cruelty. Like a pair of moons locked in orbit, drawn together to the exclusion of the stars.”

“We’re alike too,” Cynara protested, reaching up to undo his tie and making short work of it. “Both of us are impatient and focused and don’t suffer fools gladly. You might be a better fighter but I’ve blackened a few eyes in my day.”

He softly chuckled, and the gleam of his teeth in the semi-darkness was slightly unnerving. “I have no doubt you have. Your harshness to me back in Ravenscroft lingers in my memory and I cannot decide if I enjoyed it or not.”

“You did,” Cynara assured him, undoing the buttons of his shirt and delighted to see his bare chest. “It infuriated you; I could tell.”

“Hmmm, well I am not the only one to appreciate capriciousness in rutting,” Loki murmured. He slid long cool hands up the outside of her thighs, his touch moving up under the skirt of her sun dress. With a quick flip he folded back the hem and pushed it to her waist, revealing her silky panties and the rounded bulge just beginning to show under her navel. He cupped it with one hand, smiling broadly. “She is asleep, well-fed and content. She will not stir tonight.”

Cynara laughed. “You’re sure of that?”

His smile shifted to a smirk, and his hand moved to the edge of the panties, fingers sliding with clear intent under the elastic. “Shhhh, it’s _our_ time now.”

It was clear that Loki was determined to go slow; maddeningly so. Cynara rocked her hips up, trying to increase the contact between her mound and his hand but he kept his touch light and laughed each time she strove to press against him.

“You are a pain in the ass,” Cynara growled.

“Is that an accusation or an invitation?” he breathed into her ear. “Think carefully before you reply, Wife.”

She started to glare and then let her gaze shift demurely as she batted her lashes at him. “I didn’t think all those straight-laced Asgardians even _knew_ about the road less travelled by.” 

“You have seen how much they drink,” Loki reminded her as his dimples deepened. “Beer is only the beginning, and mead makes them quite open to . . . many suggestions.”

Cynara snorted, trying hard not to think of Odin being ordered around by Frigga, or Thor being spanked but something of her thoughts must have reached Loki, who laughed as well. He stretched out over her, weight on his hands and knees, caging her in, his breath warm against her face. “Behind those massive doors, who can say what games Gods play, what odd desires rise? Once I even talked my brother into dressing himself as a woman.”

“The quest to retrieve Mjöllnir from Þrymr,” Cynara snickered. “God, I would have _loved_ seeing Thor in a gown.”

Loki smiled at the memory. “He was vain even then. I of course was able to take womanly form and I think the skill irked him.”

“That you could, or that you’re so beautiful when you do?” Cynara wanted to know. Loki preened for a moment, then bent to press his lips against her shoulder.

“Both,” Loki sighed playfully. “Shall I change for you now?”

Cynara laughed. “If you like.” He’d shown her the form early on and once she’d gotten over her initial flash of jealousy, Cynara had found it fascinating that her husband was still the same sex-obsessed trickster no matter what the gender. The face was a bit leaner and the eyelashes longer, but under it all, Loki still liked being on top _and_ bottom.

He considered it, and then shook his head. “Perhaps another time; I would rather be my true self with you tonight.”

“In _that_ case,” Cynara sighed, “Show me . . .”

Loki did, letting his eyes gleam like rubies in the semi-darkness as he arched his spine and stroked the heavy shaft of his erection against her mound in slow teasing strokes, then used one hand to tug her panties down, his chuckle low against the side of Cynara’s throat. “My evil, selfish, lustful self . . .”

“Mmmm, and those are your _good_ qualities,” she giggled, her fingers slipping down to caress his cock. Loki gave a pleased growl and reached down to wrap her fingers more tightly around him. Cynara followed his urging and gave a slow stroke, feeling gratified when he drew in a shuddery breath.

“Do Gods beat off?” she murmured, licking her lips as she watched her fingers move.

“Beat . . ? Oh, do they polish the lightning?” Loki laughed softly. “Temper the spear of life?”

“Yeah, that,” Cynara smirked, sitting up a bit for a better grip. Loki rocked his hips in counterstroke to her touch, his larger hand around hers.

“Yes,” he managed in a distracted tone. “For many years it was my brother’s greatest skill in fact, much to my mother’s distress. She caught him at it once on the edge of the bifrost. ‘Painting the stars,’ he called it.”

She laughed; Cynara couldn’t help it and even as she increased her pace she smiled up at Loki. “That sounds like something _you_ would do.”

“Keep going and I _will,_ ” he grunted, hips speeding up. “You’ve a grip of cruel velvet, Wife.”

She kept going, wrapping her thighs around one of his, and then they didn’t talk as the friction and heat blossomed between them. Cynara nipped Loki’s cheek, rubbed herself shamelessly against him and felt a distinct surge of feminine pride when his breathing became panting. The feel of his wet climax slickening her palm and spattering on her stomach help push her over the edge, and with a helpless gasp Cynara came in slow sweet waves of pleasure.

\--oo00oo--

She woke up hours later, cold and alone, a manacle around one bare ankle.


	5. Chapter 5

She didn’t want to panic, but Cynara felt fear rising up through her, tensing her muscles and making her heartbeat race. None of that would be good for the baby, she realized, and with supreme effort, she took several deep breaths, forcing herself to do it slowly.

First things first. Cynara glanced around to get her bearings, taking in what she could of her situation. In her head she heard Phil’s calming voice: _Notice everything you can; anything within reach could be a weapon or a tool. Look for exits and cameras. Relax._

Good advice; standard S.H.I.E.L.D. training of course, but Cynara figured her situation wasn’t the usual terrorist scenario, given that the walls around her were some sort of semi-transparent grey slime. The entire room was ovoid in shape, with a darker surface underneath her curled body. She estimated that if she stood and reached up, she might just touch the ceiling, and if she held her arms out, her fingertips would touch the walls.

Cynara didn’t _want_ to touch the walls; they seemed to ooze and flow like a lava lamp, with a viscosity that made her stomach queasy. Light seemed to shine through them, and it was enough to see by; she looked at herself carefully, glad she’d pulled on her panties and oversized _“I seed glorious Svalbard”_ tee-shirt on before falling asleep. She didn’t have anything else on, except . . . glancing down Cynara noticed the manacle around her ankle and gave a hiss of surprise. The band seemed to be made of the same substance as the walls, and having it against her skin sent a fresh surge of panic through her system.

She clawed at it, clumsily, trying to work her fingers under the band but it seemed to tighten in response to her efforts, and the sudden painful _squeeze_ of it made Cynara whimper.

“Okay, not getting _that_ off anytime soon,” she grumbled aloud. It had a long stringy cord that attached to the wall, and Cynara felt there was something faintly sinister about the fact that it looked more organic than construct. The entire cell looked that way, and she fought a sense of claustrophobia as she looked around it.  
“Hello?” she called out uncertainly. “Anyone there?”

For a few moments Cynara got no response, and then without any warning the wall before her thinned out to film; she saw a figure on the other side, slightly distorted by the slime, and she started.  
“Mate of the usurper,” came the raspy voice. “Are you in need?”

She thought about that as she studied the image on the other side of the cell window. It stood nearly as tall as she was, with some sort of cloak of black and grey feathers, topped by a cowl hood so Cynara couldn’t quite make out any features, although the tawny gleam of eyes made her uneasy.

“You could say that,” she murmured. “Who are you, where AM I, and why am I here?”

The figure said nothing for a moment, but cocked its head. Finally a low hiss vibrated through the film separating them. “I am Haliastur. You are within my flight bower and you are here because your treacherous mate seized my eyrie for his own. _Your_ scent was there also, so you share his guilt.”

Whatever Cynara had been expecting to hear this wasn’t it. “What?”

“You share his crime,” came the impatient reply. “Therefore you will share in his punishment. When he comes for you I will destroy you both and once again be able to reclaim my eyrie.”

“Whoa, wait a second. You don’t need to destroy us!” Cynara protested urgently. “You can have your eyrie back, whatever the hell that is.”

The figure—Haliastur—made an impatient little screech. “The defilement demands death and no less, female! My home, my sacred sanctuary in the mountains of Vevalaar desecrated by you wingless ones!”

Cynara blinked as a sudden thought flashed through her mind. “You mean Ravenscroft? The fortress—that’s _yours?_ ”

“Halls held by my sky-born ancestors for centuries, ground-walker, yes. They must be re-sanctified with sacrifice and once your mate comes for you I will use your blood to erase the shame of your occupation.”

“Let’s not be hasty!” Cynara shot back, fighting a sense of panic rising up in her gullet. “We—at least I-- didn’t know it still belonged to anyone else, all right? We didn’t do any harm to the place and I’m sure once Loki gets here we can sort this misunderstanding out easily enough.”

“Loki,” hissed Haliastur scornfully. “He of the false plumage and sleek words. Were it not a matter of honor for Vevalaar I would pluck his eyes out and deliver him, sightless, to the convocation.”

That definitely didn’t sound good, although Cynara felt a small pang of empathy as she fleetingly remembered the destruction of Manhattan. Loki the capricious was also Loki the destructive. “Yes I understand,” she murmured. “He can be deceitful, yes, but--”

“He is a thief singing a poisoned song,” Haliastur cawed, “and he must die.”

“I will fight you,” Cynara heard herself say fiercely. “He is my mate.”

“I expected no less,” came the slightly softer reply, “Loki the usurper will come for you and I shall be ready.”

The thinned wall thickened again, and Cynara watched the shadow of Haliastur move away. She felt exhausted and seriously discouraged now; sinking down Cynara curled up, one hand on her stomach as she tried not to let herself panic.

“Okay sweetie, I’ll try to get us out of here, but just for the record? Your daddy can be a real jerk sometimes.”

*** *** *** 

It was hard to judge time; the light dimmed at regular intervals though, and by counting those Cynara figured the days were passing, each one a little more depressing than the last.

The egg—she figured that was what she was inside now—was slightly warmer than body temperature and still unpleasantly squishy to touch. Periodically jelly globules the size of oranges appeared embedded in one wall and Cynara found she could pull them out; food of a yolky nature apparently, and bland. The band around her ankle pulsed occasionally, and it didn’t take long to realize it was monitoring her body and its needs. When she needed a toilet, one formed along wall; when she needed a bed, a long shelf formed against another wall.

The boredom nearly drove her mad. She sang aloud every Eighties song she knew, went over the times tables up to twenty-five, tried to figure out how to translate Shakespeare into runes, and recited all the roller-derby teams her mother had played on. Cynara talked to her daughter, hummed, argued with herself and tried to talk to Haliastur.

He rarely spoke to her, and when he did, it was with impatience. “There is little to be said, mate of Loki; you and he must die for your transgression.”

“But why? We made a mistake, and we’d be happy to make restitution for it—at least I know _I_ would. Why do you need to _kill_ us?”

“Because once hatched, the chick within you would seek revenge unless your line is eliminated.”

“W-what?” She wasn’t sure she’d heard him correctly, but Haliastur gave a soft hiss of impatience.

“The Jötunn do not forgive and neither do _my_ people, mate of Loki. This transgression can only end in death.”

“So why are you keeping me alive?” she blurted out before thinking. Cynara shrank back, horribly aware that she might have just goaded him precisely the wrong way. Through the thinned film of the wall he seemed to fluff up a bit, his head cocking again.  
“You are linked to your mate. If you were dead he could not be lured here.”

“Gee thanks,” Cynara muttered under her breath, but apparently Haliastur’s hearing was intently keen because he gave a squawk she dimly recognized as a laugh.

“I respect you, mate of Loki, but that will not change the way matters must be between us. The law of claw and beak must be upheld.”

That had been a few days ago, and she’d brooded over those words ever since. Night after night Cynara had tried to dream, tried to reach that strange plane where she could find Loki, but each sleep had been fruitless so far and her boredom was now constantly tinged with panic as she tried to consider her options.  
If Loki didn’t show up, Haliastur might kill her as a matter of course. That was the default, she realized. If Loki _did_ show up, he would be battling Haliastur, but it might not be a fair battle. 

Cynara hadn’t seen any other beings besides her captor, but that didn’t mean he was alone, per se. Too, Loki had the capacity to bring armies, she knew, not that her situation actually warranted any.

None of the outcomes she could see looked particularly good, and Cynara told her daughter as much. “I will do what I can to live, kiddo, but I won’t lie—this doesn’t look good for either one of us right now. I don’t suppose _you_ have any pull with daddy, do you?”

The round lump of her belly gave a butterfly flutter in response, and smiling against her will, Cynara pressed her hands against it, humming.

That night she dreamt.

The plane was as it usually was; craggy, dark and bleak, but the open space felt so freeing that Cynara practically skipped, spinning her arms around, channeling her inner Julie Andrews as she fought against singing ‘The hills are alive, with the sound of music!’

“Sigyn!” came a gravelly tone, a voice low, beloved and slightly desperate. She turned and a little way off saw Loki slumped on the ground, his lithe frame curled up into itself. Cynara moved to him, stumbling a little over the rocky ground, shocked at his appearance. She bent down, hands seeking his bristly cheeks as she turned his face up to hers.

“Loki . . .” she whispered, overwhelmed as her stomach lurched. His eyes were sunken into his lean face, and his cheekbones seemed to jut through the thin, pale skin.

“Wife,” he murmured. “At last. I have been searching day and night for you. Are you well? Is our daughter safe?”

“So far we’re good. Listen, I’m being held by someone called Haliastur--”

“I know,” Loki’s hands came up to cover hers and he managed a thin, dangerous smile. “I should have killed him when I had the chance, but I didn’t think he would be _this_ foolish.” As he spoke he reached one hand out and cupped her cheek, his gaze lightening. “You are rounder now.”

“He’s going to kill us both,” Cynara blurted. “I’m in some sort of an egg cell thingie . . .”

“I know where you _are_ now, Wife,” Loki broke in, brows drawing together, “and I am coming for you both.”

He rose and took her in his arms; Cynara choked back the tears that threatened and clung to him, relaxing against the long, lean strength of Loki’s hug. She pulled back a bit and looked into his face a few moments later, her words soft.

“You look . . . terrible. What’s wrong?”

He gave a slightly nonchalant shrug. “Yes well, your one-eyed king has been a little . . . difficult to deal with these past weeks.”

It came to her then, and Cynara gritted her teeth. “Shit. He’s holding you prisoner, isn’t he? Fury thinks you--”

“Thinks I have killed you, or at the very least have kidnapped you, yes,” Loki admitted. “I have not been permitted to sleep and even now may be woken at any moment. Soon, my snowflake. I _will_ come for the both of you and bring you home.”

She opened her mouth to say something, but the plane vanished and Cynara woke up, her pulse racing. Instinctively she pressed a hand to her stomach and lay quietly until morning.

Thinking of what she was going to say to a certain director when she returned.


	6. Chapter 6

More time passed, tortuously slow. Cynara spent more time talking aloud, addressing most of her comments to the growing bulge of her waist, and it amused her when particular comments seemed to evoke some sort of response. 

“It’s not that I’m superstitious or anything, but I just don’t like the name Nari. It doesn’t bode well for you, sweetie,” she murmured as she rubbed her hands on her belly. “Since you’re not a boy, I figure we can change the name too. Maybe if we switch the letters around. Let’s see . . . Iran? No, that’s out, not naming you after a country completely unrelated to Nordic mythology. What else . . . Rain . . . hmm, a bit hippie for my tastes . . . Rina? Maybe. Nira?”

That got a tiny but enthusiastic thump, and Cynara grinned. “Oh you like that one do you?”

Another thump seemed to settle the question, and Cynara rubbed more firmly, tears prickling her eyes. “Okay then, Nira it is. So—”

But whatever else she was going to say was interrupted by a sudden quaking of the entire cell. Cynara looked around, not seeing much beyond the wavery walls of the cell. She tensed when another shudder sent her rocking. She reached a hand out to touch the wall, flinching at the slick feel of the runny force field and called out. “Hey! What’s going on?”

Haliastur didn’t answer and Cynara hadn’t expected him to; if the rocking meant what she _thought_ it did, his attention would be elsewhere. She hunkered down, keeping low and staying alert, trying not to smirk. “Hey sweetie, I think your dad’s making his move.”

This time there was no kick, but Cynara didn’t worry about it since she was concentrating on other matters. During her time in the egg cell she’d worked on her tether and studied the walls, and although they both looked intimidating, Cynara had figured out that the consistency fluctuated. If she pushed a wall or pulled on the tether she could thin them out—not enough to escape, but enough to see through the walls and sometimes to loosen the grip of the tether.

Pressing her hands to the closest surface, Cynara peered hopefully into the darkness, trying to focus on any movement out there. A moment later her cell rocked once again, enough to make her stumble backwards.

She strained to listen.

Nothing happened for a while, and Cynara wavered between hope and wary anticipation, wondering what to do. Certainly she wasn’t dressed for safety or comfort, and while she’d had the modicum of care it had been a while since she’d used her legs. 

Another shudder, but this time a flare of light illuminated one wall, and she flinched away from it, one hand moving protectively across her belly. The sound of footsteps grew, moving from a low rumble to distinctive steps, and vague shapes appeared through the ooze. Cynara lurched forward, hands out to touch and thin the film.

“Weak and foolish,” Haliastur screeched, his tone gloating. “No army following his orders _this time._ Your mate is a fool and my revenge will soon be complete.”

Cynara drew in a breath. Loki stood with his hands behind him, his hair tangled and a faint trace of beard along his thin cheeks and chin. He wore his armor but she could see charred holes in the leather, and a trickle of something dark and wet flowing through a slash along a shoulder. Behind him, Haliastur stood holding a claw-tipped staff, the glittering talons of which curled around one of Loki’s biceps.

She stared up at Loki, willing him silently to meet her gaze. He lifted his head and looked in her direction, green eyes slightly bloodshot, mouth quirking in the smallest of smiles.

It was the smile that did it; Cynara relaxed a bit and shifted her gaze to Haliastur. “You caught him?”

“Easily,” came the gloat. “Now he shall join you in death; that is the way of claw and beak. Forward, thief.”

Loki stumbled a bit as Haliastur shoved the staff, and he turned his head, glaring at his captor. “You will regret _all_ , Haliastur.”

“ _You_ are in my talons, and once you join your mate in the holding egg I will crush you both,” came the cold response. “Move.”

Loki turned his head back to Cynara and murmured softly under his breath. “He fancies himself a hawk, yet all I see is pigeon.”

“And _I_ know what pigeons hate,” Cynara replied, a sudden thought coming to mind. She shuffled back—instinct kicking in—and sucked in a gasp as Loki shifted form.

The long sleek black jaguar twisted away from the talon grip and pounced, one massive paw slashing across Haliastur as they both tumbled down. Shrieking squawks and furious rumbling made Cynara’s pulse race and she did everything but press her face to the wall in an attempt to watch.

Feathers flew; it seemed both ridiculous and frightening, but she saw long barred feathers flutter up as the two bodies writhed on the ground. Finally Haliastur gave an ear-piercing screech and pulled away, his hood tumbling off to reveal his avian features. He swept one massive wing towards the Loki-jaguar and the blow knocked the cat down.

Cynara felt herself growl, icy fury building up recklessly inside her.

_Fuck this,_ she thought.

Pushing hard on the wall Cynara pictured her anger icing through her fingers and the surface gave way, fractionally, her fingertips sliding through it. Concentrating a bit more, Cynara managed to work her hand through, reaching out, reaching down towards the shaft of the forgotten talon staff.

Haliastur screeched again, both wings spread and beating furiously at Loki-Jaguar who was raking his claws in quick counter-strikes. Cynara tried to keep an eye on them and feel for the staff at the same time. When she finally managed to snag the weapon, she gripped it, feeling a tingle where her hand pressed to the cylindrical surface.

She lifted the staff, the angle away from her and suddenly the weight of it was too much as Haliastur’s face loomed forth, falling against it. The claws automatically tightened around his feathery throat and Cynara felt another surge of cold fury as his screech was cut off mid-squawk. He tumbled away, the talons still wrapped around him, the staff sliding through Cynara’s grip.

“You forfeited your sanctuary when I bested you the _first_ time, Haliastur,” Loki rasped, “But that paltry affair matters not. No, you transgressed further when you took my mate and child, and _that_ I cannot forgive!”

Cynara tried to speak but couldn’t; Loki-Jaguar dropped to a stalking crouch, tail twitching.

“The way of claw and fang,” he rumbled, and made one last pounce. She watched him bat at Haliastur’s trapped head, a swift paw strike snapping it to an impossible angle, the crack audible.

Cynara thought she might throw up, but a small fluttering in her belly made her take a deep breath instead. Slumping back, she watched Loki-Jaguar give one last contemptuous smack to the body of her captor and turn to pace to the wall of the holding egg. His face hovered close to the liquid wall, and through the haze his eyes gleamed green.

“Are you safe? Did he harm you or our child?” came the urgent question.

“We’re all right,” she replied thickly. “You’re a pretty kitty.”

He chuckled at that, a raspy sound, and lifted one paw to press against the wall. “This will take some concentration . . .”

“Let me help,” Cynara murmured and leaned forward, pressing her hand in the outline of his paw. The viscous wall froze between them and developed cracks radiating out from the point of contact. With a light push, Loki-Jaguar broke a hole and reached through, his paw turning back into a human limb as the re-transformation rolled up his arm and passed like a ripple over his body. Cynara gripped his hand and pressed her cheek against the palm.

“Wife,” Loki whispered, and the tear rolling down his face froze in a glittering drop.

*** *** *** 

The trip home was a blur; Cynara wrapped herself around Loki and let him teleport or beam or just magic them away from Haliastur’s bower. She had no idea how long it took and didn’t care, not as long as she could bury her face against Loki’s shoulder. They re-appeared at Outpost Nord, setting off the alarms and bringing a squad of S.H.I.E.L.D. agents running, weapons drawn. By the light it was just after sunset, and Cynara turned her face towards the fading light, trying not to cry.

A quiet voice called for everyone to stand down, and Phil Coulson made his way towards them, eyes locked on hers. “Nara, are you okay?”

She nodded, not quite trusting her voice.

Phil looked from her to Loki and she caught the unspoken conversation in that glance, but all Phil said was, “Inside, this way. Doctor Finkle is here.”

“Wait,” Cynara muttered, slightly confused, “She’s here?”

“Later, Wife,” Loki spoke softly and carried her up the steps of the lodge, following Coulson.

“No, Josie only comes once every two weeks. How long have I been gone? What’s going on?” Cynara demanded, feeling a new rush of fear and bewilderment.

Loki brushed his lips at her temple, his voice low. “I will not rest until I know you and Nira are safe.”

Cynara blinked. “You, you know her name?”

He flashed a brief smile as they moved through the rooms of Outpost Nord. “Yes.”

 

Josie Finkle was quiet and thorough, insisting on privacy for the exam. Cynara clung to Loki’s hand while the obstetrician drew blood, gently prodded her and ran a quick ultrasound over her belly, humming all the while.

The shape on the monitor brought tears to her eyes, and Cynara squeezed Loki’s hand as they both gazed at it. “God, there she is, she’s real!”

“And looking pretty healthy, all things considered,” Josie nodded. “Just about to hit the five month mark now.”

“Five . . .” Cynara mumbled, stunned. “That long? I was gone that long?”

Josie patted her belly lightly. “You’re back and that’s what matters. Get some sleep, all right?”

“You need rest,” Loki agreed firmly.

Cynara got to her feet, resisting the suggestion to sleep in the infirmary and Loki’s attempt to carry her (“I can walk, Husband!”) She leaned on his arm as they both left the doctor and made their way upstairs. She noted the various agents in the living room, the increased activity all around Outpost Nord, but her fatigue prevented her from doing anything more about it at the moment.

Stretching out on the mattress was indescribably good, as was the feel of Loki curling against her back, his arm resting on her waist. She felt his cool breath in her hair and gave a sigh. “Loki . . . there was a _price_ for this, wasn’t there?”

He said nothing for a moment, and the arm around her waist tightened. Finally his whisper tickled her ear. “Sleep, Wife. No one will _ever_ take you from me again.”


	7. Chapter 7

For a while there was fuss about moving her to another outpost, one even more remote, but Cynara put an end to those discussions as quickly as possible in her first face to face with Fury. “I like it _here._ It’s quiet and the immediate threat is gone.”

“For _now_ ,” he acknowledged sourly. “But if you’ve been snatched once there’s always a chance it will happen again.”

“Yes,” Cynara agreed heavily. “But that’s not necessarily S.H.I.E.L.D.’s problem.”

“Oh as long as you’re working for _us_ , I think it is,” Fury barked back, “and before you threaten to quit, keep in mind that the employment opportunities for your particular skill set are limited.” He shifted, his tone softening as he added, “You have a _baby_ to consider; I have an entire _planet_ to weigh in the balance.”

Cynara paused a long moment, taking in a breath before speaking again. “Sir, look at it from my point of view; I’ve got not only all the resources of S.H.I.E.L.D. looking out for me, but also two pretty powerful gods. The odds of anyone trying to take all that on is pretty low don’t you think?”

Fury gave her a considering look and sighed. He leaned back and rubbed his chin, not happy, but not arguing either. “Statistically speaking you’re probably right. But I’d like to know what your plans are for this child once you’ve given birth.”

She gave a tired roll of her eyes. “I had some time to think about that while I was . . . away. As you know I’ve got property in Svalbard; I might go there. Out of the way, not a S.H.I.E.L.D. base but within range of the helicarrier. I’d still need to talk to Loki about it though. And speaking of my husband . . .” Cynara leaned forward—or as much as she could, given the swell of her stomach—“What the hell did you DO to him?”

Fury gave her his straightforward one-eyed stare, but she wasn’t quite as intimidated by it as she used to be. Living with an Ice Giant had toughened her, Cynara realized. Being kidnapped had _callused_ her.

“We did not _do_ anything to him,” Fury enunciated carefully. “What has he _told_ you?”

“Oh no,” Cynara shook her head, “We’re not playing _that_ game, sir. I know Loki’s considered a hostile alien and S. H.I.E.L.D. has a pretty clear mandate about those now.”

“Yes well in this case _he_ came to _us._ ” Fury replied. “Couldn’t sleep and nothing from Asgard was helping. Doctor Finkle ended up using some pretty powerful drugs to try and put your husband into REM sleep long enough to do that dream hook-up you two have.”

Cynara blinked. “He came to _you?_ ”

Fury sighed. “We all agreed it was best to have him in protective custody while he tried to sleep. Loki got pretty pissy towards the end there; sleep deprivation does create psychosis, eventually.”

She felt slightly mollified, but another part of her wasn’t ready to let go of the anger just yet. “He says you held him prisoner.”

“He _also_ said and I quote, ‘Midgardian adult cereal tastes like rotted oats sprayed with goat piss, unquote. What have you been _feeding_ him, Special Technician Sigyn-Laufeyson?”

Cynara tried hard not to laugh; Fury’s impersonation was pretty close, and she knew that Outpost Nord didn’t have anything in stock with sugar, marshmallows OR prizes.

After all, she’d looked, when she’d first arrived.

“He doesn’t like healthy stuff,” Cynara admitted, rolling her eyes. “Something about those metabolisms . . . but that’s not the point. The _point_ is he’s not a threat.”

“Not for the moment,” Fury nodded, “but he won’t talk about what happened in the confrontation with your abductor. Says it’s not pertinent to anyone but the two of you. Pardon me if I don’t exactly _see_ it that way.”

“He killed the alien who took me,” Cynara told him shortly. “Apparently Loki had tricked him out of a homestead and Haliastur felt the need to avenge his honor by using me as bait to eventually try and kill us both. Normally I wouldn’t condone what my husband did, but after being cooped up and hormonal for nearly two months, I’ve changed my mind a bit. As far as I can tell the homestead is now officially ours and it will make a decent home away from home once Nira is born.”

Fury just looked at her for a moment and then gave another slow sigh. “All right then. So you’ll stay here until you give birth, and then I suppose S.H.I.E.L.D. can put you on consultant status and list Svalbard as your residence.”

“That would work,” Cynara agreed. “In the meantime, I don’t think Loki’s going anywhere or doing anything to put any of us in further jeopardy; he’s going to stick around.”

“I’m not surprised,” came the grumble. “You two taking Lamaze? Because _that_ ought to be interesting.”

Cynara blinked. “Shit. I hadn’t even thought about that; thanks for the reminder, sir.”

\--oo00oo--

The idea of birthing classes unnerved both Loki and Thor, who looked at each other with the natural anxiety of males everywhere. Cynara shot them both an annoyed glare. “It’s supposed to be a beautiful and bonding experience.”

“If it is beautiful, why do the women scream?” Thor wanted to know. “Why do they curse the men who have filled their bellies?”

“What?” Cynara spluttered, “Who told you _that?_ ”

“Heimdall,” came the prompt answer. “He _does_ see all.”

“Yes,” Loki smirked. “Back in our callow youth. I believe that was _after_ you’d asked him what naked women looked like.”

Cynara rolled her eyes. “Gah! All right, perhaps birthing rituals in Asgard are a little old-fashioned but down here we’re . . . more progressive. We treat it a little more lovingly. Fathers are a part of that, and because I know you’ve dealt with being a parent as _both_ genders, Loki, I really hope you’re going to be _with_ me on this.”

Loki squared his shoulders and nodded. “I will be here to welcome my daughter, Wife.”

“You’d better be,” Cynara told him. “You were there when she was created so I _expect_ you to be there when she’s delivered. In the meantime, I’m going to call my mother and lie like crazy about being incommunicado for the last few weeks. I know Phil covered for me, but it’s time to face the music.”

“ _Our_ mother is aware of your safe return,” Thor assured Cynara. 

“Yes,” Cynara nodded, well-aware of the sudden appearance of kegs, bags, and chests throughout Outpost Nord in the last two days. Apparently Frigga felt a need to make up for the missing weeks and had doubled up her gifts. “At this point I think I could take a _bath_ in moonfruit ale.”

Thor looked skeptical; Loki intrigued, but Cynara shook her head and slipped away for her phone call.

“Oh hi sweetie! Feeling better?” her mother chirped, sounding breezy over the connection. Cynara blinked a little.

“Um, yes. Listen, I’m really sorry about being, um, out of touch for so long, but---"

“Oh ‘Nara we understand! That nice boss of yours explained about your stay at that fancy spa, and the extra precautions Doctor Finkle was taking. Besides, I don’t think a week is too long. You should have booked yourself for two. God, when I was carrying you I could have used massages twenty-four seven! Not that your _father_ was any help,” her mother added dryly. 

“Uh, yeah. So do you want to know the sex of your grandkid?” Cynara muttered, the better part of her mind trying to sort out this time dilemma. 

“YES!” her mother yelped. “Blue or pink?”

“Pink.”

“YESYESYES! Oh you know I would have been _just_ as happy with a grandson,” her mother backpedaled for a moment, and added, “how do Loki’s folks feel about it?”

“They’re, ah, pretty pleased,” Cynara fudged. “His mother’s been, um, making sure I take my vitamins.”

“Good for her! Sounds like a sensible woman; I hope Harry and I get to meet her soon. Oh Honey I have to dash, but I’ll call you sometime this week, all right? Give your hubby a nice hug from me and take care of you three! Kisses!”

Cynara tracked Loki down; he was watching cat videos on a laptop with Thor, who was laughing uproariously. Snagging his sleeve, she demanded, “My mom thinks I’ve been gone a _week,_ Husband. What’s going on?”

“Time ran a different track on Haliastur’s craft,” Loki replied. “The egg you were within had its own lifespan, and that quickened your pregnancy.”

Cynara struggled to understand. “So I thought I was held for weeks and weeks! How long was I actually gone from here, Earth?”

“Three weeks. On Haliastur’s craft however, you were contained for eight weeks,” Loki told her gently. “The midwife thinks the acceleration may continue for a while.”

“What?” She wasn’t sure if this was good news or not.

“Yes. The wise woman Finkle will stay with us to keep watch,” Loki assured her. “Nira is pleased.”

Cynara huffed a little and caught Loki’s chin, forcing him to look away from a kitten tumbling off a sofa. “Another thing; how are you . . . talking to this kid anyway?”

Loki gave her a wide-eyed glance. “Magic, of course. She has her share, thanks to my lineage.”

“Magic,” Cynara echoes tiredly. “Right. You know, I’ll just go take a nap and leave things as they are. Psychic connections, magic . . . whatever.”


	8. Chapter 8

The baby shower was unreal. Cynara understood it was one of the rituals of pregnancy, and she’d bought her share of gifts for gravid colleagues, but being the center of attention was just . . . weird. It didn’t help that her mother-in-law was attending, and because of that, S.H.I.E.L.D. had security swarming all over Outpost Nord. Frigga was just as gracious as last time, and watching her mother chatter things up with the goddess had Cynara shaking her head.

She noticed that Loki was fairly quiet too, and took his hand to give it a squeeze as people mingled around the present table. He flashed a quick smile in return.

“It appears your mother has won favor with _my_ mother,” he observed.

“MY mother could chitchat to a can of _beans_ and get it to talk,” Cynara sighed. “She could probably get away with suggesting that Odin shave.”

“The Allfather without a beard?” Loki blinked. “ _That_ would herald Ragnarok, surely.”

“You don’t have a beard.”

“I could, and have had one when in disguise,” he pointed out. “Those of us born of ice do not need them.”

Cynara smirked. “So speaking of beards, where’s Thor?”

“He was watching the Tube of You, and favoring the displays of armor and battle mishaps, but he will be here soon to greet our mother,” Loki assured her. “My brother is far more . . . social than I am.”

Cynara nodded, and laid a hand on her stomach, grinning. Loki slid his own hand under hers and gave a nod. “Nira knows there will be sweets.”

“Nira talks a lot more to you than to me,” came her grumble. “I get all the kicks and somersaults and backaches.”

“A spirited child,” her husband offered. “I think Sleipnir will be delighted with such a sibling, Wife.”

She shot him a smirk and then looked up to see her mother bringing her a glass of lemonade and smiling up at Loki.

“I’m so glad you’re here,” Tilly burbled, moving to hug him. Loki stiffened but allowed it, managing to hide his pained expression as his mother-in-law chattered away. “I was just talking to your mother and she had the most _darling_ stories about you as a toddler! Is it true you and your brother ran NAKED along some bridge?”

Cynara hadn’t seen her husband blush before; this unexpected sight had her grinning so hard it hurt.

“We were _very_ young at the time,” Loki muttered through gritted teeth. “And it was my brother’s idea.”

“An idea you agreed to wholeheartedly as I recall,” Frigga remarked as she glided over, smiling. “It took quite a while to catch the pair of you and get you back into clothes.”

Cynara watched Loki chew his lower lip in an attempt to keep from saying anything, but Tilly giggled and cocked her head. “Oh it’s all right, really. _Every_ toddler streaks. At least _you_ didn’t do it—”

“Mom!” Cynara blurted, feeling her own face go hot, “Not the--”

“—At the downtown shopping mall at high noon,” her mother finished, chortling. “Winding with your little bare butt up in the air exposed to hun-dreds of people as you tried to climb into the fountain.”

“—mall story,” Cynara finished morosely. “In my own defense I was barely _two_ at the time, and it was a hot day, okay?”

The look from Frigga was sweet and understanding; the one from Loki meant trouble, she knew. His expression said clearly _Now I am picturing you naked and bending over to climb in a fountain and you are NOT two years old._

Very maturely, she stuck her tongue out at him and Loki’s dimples flashed as he grinned back.

“Now, now,” Frigga murmured, eyes twinkling. “There are guests here and I believe it is time to gather in the other room . . . children.”

Loki put his hands on her shoulders to steer her forward, bending to whisper in her ear. “Naked before hundreds . . . what a _sordid_ past you have, Wife.”

“Oh shut up, horsie-mama.”

 

Not surprisingly, Thor charmed everyone and managed to win the majority of the games. There was something about a huge, manly blonde god beaming away that seemed to make most of the women in the room willing to play nice. Cynara didn’t mind; Thor was good company when he was happy, and having three Asgardians around did add a sense of security. She took the time to catch up with her mother, hearing all about Harry’s latest ulcer treatment, the re-sodded lawn and the last few derby match-ups. Her mother also seemed to take a liking to Sven-the-Fress and kept feeding him carrot sticks.

At some point Cynara noted that Josie had slipped out; probably checking in with the helicarrier. 

There were presents to open, and the sheer generosity of everyone had her stunned, especially when she opened the state-of-the-art stroller from Phil.

“Oh it’s too much!” Cynara protested, feeling herself begin to tear up. Phil merely shrugged, but his grin flashed out.

“Nope. I think you can even take this one into the rink,” he teased gently as she struggled out of her chair to hug him. “Even has a heater for when you head to Svalbard.”

She didn’t expect Loki to reach out a hand to Phil but he did, and it was only a microsecond of hesitation before Phil took it, giving one quick shake.

“You have been a true friend to my wife and we are grateful for your gift,” Loki told him in a low voice. “Thank you.”

Phil said nothing but smiled again and shifted away.

Then it was time for the cake, an extravagant affair brought all the way from Las Vegas and decorated with runes of marzipan sprinkled with blue and pink glitter. It was over-the-top delicious and Thor happily helped make a serious dent in it. Cynara settled for a small piece to share with Loki, feeling tired but happy. Finally the party broke up, and Thor escorted his mother home, but not before she’d hugged Cynara and given her an Asgard blessing. S.H.I.E.L.D. had arranged return transportation for a number of other guests, including _her_ mother who was thrilled to be escorted back to Perth Amboy.

“I’ll see you again soon sweetie, go take a nap!” her mother trilled after a last pet to Sven, who looked up expecting a carrot. Cynara whistled and the musk-ox reluctantly ambled over and scratched his flank against one of the legs of her chair.

“Come, you must rest,” Loki told her, helping her rise from the chair. “Our daughter is already sound asleep.”

A nap sounded great, and after a token protest about cleaning up, Cynara let herself be ushered up to the bedroom she shared with Loki. It felt good to lie down, even though it was getting difficult to do. He joined her, spooning around her back and giving a soft sigh.

“I am envious,” he murmured. “Bearing our child, feeling her stir within you.”

“Having her stomp on my bladder and give me backaches,” Cynara replied huffily. “She’s wonderful, but it feels like I’ve got a ferret in my stomach most of the time now.”

“Do not complain to _me_ of kicking,” Loki sighed. “At least Nira has only _two_ legs.”

Cynara snickered. “Yeah, I bet you had it rough last time you were pregnant.” She slipped a hand to grasp his as it lay around her thickening middle. “I suppose you aren’t staying long, huh?” came the wistful murmur.

“Long enough for you to fall asleep,” Loki assured her. “It is safer for me to keep on the move around Midgard, and I have much to learn of your world. I will bring you runes if I find them.”

“Mmmmmm, that would be nice. You feel very good,” she told him through a yawn. 

“Rest,” Loki told her firmly.

*** 

The days went by and Cynara resigned herself to slip-on shoes, backaches and food issues. The smell of certain things—frying sausage in particular—made her nauseous. On the other hand, the craving for perogies drenched with Tabasco sauce turned her into a fair cook since nobody from S.H.I.E.L.D. was willing to do a run to the nearest stand at three in the morning. 

She also picked up on some sort of connection between Josie and Director Fury. Normally Cynara didn’t pry into that sort of matter, but boredom and curiosity had her questioning Phil, who resisted her inquiries with that maddening small grin of his.

“Come on, yes or no, _are_ they an item?” she wheedled over the cribbage board. Generally Phil Coulson was a pretty good player, but Cynara realized if she could distract him it helped her win.

“If you’ve got questions I suggest you talk to Josie,” he murmured. “Or Director Fury.”

She rolled her eyes. “Riiiight, because Nick and I are such good buddies. Look, I know it’s not my business but Outpost Nord is boring and you know everything about everybody anyway.”

“I’m sympathetic to your plight in being sequestered here, but if you want to know about what may or may not be happening between your obstetrician and your boss, you’ll need to go to one of the sources, ‘Nara.”

“Ever thought of going into politics?”

“Absolutely not,” Phil sighed. Cynara laughed at his expression and stood to stretch. Halfway through it though, she felt an oddly heavy sensation and wobbled a bit. Instantly Phil shot to his feet and reached for her, his normally placid face looking concerned. “’Nara?”

“I’m fine, I’m fine,” she managed. “That was just weird. Like the kid was sliding down my stomach.”

Phil’s eyes widened fractionally. “Lightening. That’s a third trimester phenomenon. I think we should go check in with Doctor Finkel.”

Josie confirmed it fifteen minutes later. “Baby Sigyn-Laufeyson’s definitely dropped. You two are definitely on an accelerated pace for this pregnancy. Any other symptoms to report?”

Cynara considered the question carefully. “No, not that I know of. I’m still the same big . . . ooh, wait a minute. Bathroom.”

When she returned, she caught Phil and Josie watching her carefully. “What? I had to go; perfectly normal.”

“It would be if this was a month and a half further than it is,” Josie pointed out lightly. “’Nara, ever since your kidnapping this pregnancy has been compressing and picking up speed. I keep having to re-estimate your timeline and frankly, _you_ need to understand that you are now capable of going into labor from this point on.”

Cynara blinked. “You’re serious,” she blurted, looking back at them.

“Completely,” Josie replied in a no-nonsense tone. “Your baby would be premature—I think—but have a good chance of making it. So consider yourself on alert status orange, okay? Anything, and I mean _anything_ out of the ordinary you let me know right away, got it?”

“Okay, okay,” Cynara agreed, mostly to get them to stop looking at her as if she had a nuclear weapon under her trapeze top. “So this dropping thing is okay, though, right?”

“Yes,” Josie nodded. “You’re going to feel the trade-off though.”

“Easier breathing, but more bladder issues,” Phil explained. When both women looked at him he shrugged. “I’ve read up.”

“Yeah. You know when you and Holly get around to having kids you’re going to be the expert,” Josie told him with wry affection.

He shook his head even as he smirked. “I do enough child care aboard the helicarrier as it is,” Phil replied and ducked out as both women snorted.

After he’d left, Cynara looked at Josie and arched an eyebrow. “Think he’ll change his mind?”

“Anything’s possible, although for all I know Holly could be short for Hollister,” Josie admitted with a grin.

Cynara blinked. “Huh, never considered that.”

*** *** *** 

Chunks of carved stone began to appear outside of Outpost Nord, and while some were relatively small, the ones the size of a washing machine and larger were annoyingly obstructive. Cynara knew it was her husband’s way of sending postcards, but they _did_ block the driveway every now and then. She translated and recorded every one before allowing S.H.I.E.L.D. agents remove them. 

“This one’s another eleventh century brag stone, put up by someone named Rolf, son of Magnus, son of Erik,” she sighed, looking up from the chiseled lines. “Conquered territory, sailed far, fathered twenty kids, blah, blah, blah. Oh, and he had a big dick,” Cynara snickered, rising up and rubbing her back. “Man they really _loved_ announcing that.”

“Probably because nobody’s left to dispute it,” Josie replied. The obstetrician had offered to transcribe on this particularly nice late spring day, so it was the two of them a quarter mile from the main building enjoying the mild weather. 

Cynara laughed. “True. I know the graffiti from Roman ruins mention phallus size a lot as well. Guess males are the same the world over. Speaking of males . . .” she looked over at her obstetrician and made it significant. 

Josie cleared her throat noisily trying to keep her attention on the laptop in her hands. “Statement or question?”

“Question, big time,” Cynara laughed.

“No comment,” came the prompt reply.

“I’ll tell you what,” came the wheedle, “I’ll just ask and you can say true or false. That way no confidentiality is breeched and I still get my nosiness rewarded. Fair enough?”

“I suppose you’re not going to drop this, are you?” Josie sighed.

“Nope,” came the cheerful reply. “Boredom makes a person do strange and irritating things.”

“Tell me about it,” Josie sighed. She was about to make another remark when she heard a grunt. Looking over the top of the computer, Josie realized Cynara had dropped to her knees on the grass, hands on her belly and a stunned expression on her face.

“She _talked_ to me,” came the disbelieving whisper. “In my head. She says, Nira says, it’s time!”


	9. Chapter 9

Josie wanted someone to come get them, but Cynara pointed out that it was less than a quarter of a mile; they were within sight of the place and it would be quicker to walk. She accepted the helping hand, though, and they moved slowly across the rolling hills.

“Cool,” Cynara complained, “When did it get so cool?”

“It’s only in the mid-seventies,” Josie murmured, looking her over in a worried way. She pulled out her cell phone and hit one of the speed dial buttons. “Looks like it may be time,” Josie announced, and slid the device back into a pocket. “Cavalry’s coming.”

“Have them bring some coffee,” Cynara chuffed. She pulled her sweater around her more tightly and glared at her doctor. “Why aren’t _you_ shivering?”

“I’m not the one stressed or in labor,” came the smart-ass reply. “We’ll get you something to drink once we’re inside, okay, ‘Nara?” 

“Hot,” came the request. “Please.” 

They made it within yards of the outpost when Phil hurried out followed by a wheelchair and two medical technicians. Cynara let them help her into it and tried to listen to the conversation going on over her head but a sudden barrage of impressions in her head made everything else fade into the background. She put her hands over her face and closed her eyes, concentrating hard. 

_Excitement. Apprehension. Discomfort._

Those all came through loud and clear. Cynara rubbed her eyelids and felt her own emotions rise up in reply. 

_Excitement. Comfort. Reassurance._

When she opened her eyes they were inside the medical unit and everyone was looking at her. Cynara blinked. “Sorry, sorry, I was . . . thinking. What did I miss?” 

Phil handed her a steaming mug and Josie took it from him before Cynara could. “Sorry, let’s check her first and then she can have it.” 

Blood pressure, eyes, tongue, reflexes . . . the checklist went on and on, and it took all of her self-control not to grab the mug off the counter. When Josie finally looked up, her expression was definitely concerned. 

“You’re cool all right, but it’s not anything I can pinpoint, per se. Are you out of breath? Tired?” 

“No, I’m chilled and thirsty,” Cynara tried not to snap. “May I _please_ have the tea?” 

Phil looked to Josie, who nodded, and they both watched Cynara drink it. She looked over the rim of the mug and crossed her eyes at them before gulping. “Stop already! I just wanted something _hot_. More please.” 

Fifteen minutes later she was restlessly buttoning up her collar and folding her arms across her chest. “Okay, could someone please turn down the air conditioning?” 

“Is this normal?” Phil asked, pulling out his cell phone. 

“Not generally, no. Do as she asks,” Josie replied in a terse tone. “’Nara, hon, I want to do a quick ultrasound and see what’s going on with the baby.” 

“Yeah, okay,” Cynara murmured, feeling her tension ratchet up another notch. She didn’t feel sick or nervous, didn’t have any cramps going yet—the only thing bothering her was the chill. Well that, and the concern in Josie’s voice. 

Fifteen minutes later, Josie was rubbing the slicked up wand, and making soothing sounds. “Standard imaging looks all right . . . baby girl is _definitely_ in position, that’s for sure. Now I want to take at thermal scan.” 

Cynara nodded, feeling another impression filling her mind. _Discomfort._ “Ah, I think the baby’s . . . uncomfortable.” 

“Hang on, let’s take a look . . . . ohhhhh,” Josie trailed off and looked from the monitor to Cynara, her gaze dropping to the gel-covered stomach. “Wow. She’s ah, she’s cool. In fact, she’s a LOT cooler than you are.” 

For a second Cynara said nothing, then blurted, “Ice. Ice giant, that has to be it, right? She’s half Jotunn!” 

“Sounds right to me. The problem is _you_ are flesh and blood, ‘Nara, and you need heat. At the moment you’re at ninety five degrees. If your core temperature drops below ninety-two both you and baby are going to be in serious trouble.” 

“W-what’s the baby’s temperature?” Cynara saw the woman hesitate and added, “Jo-sie?” 

Josie drew in a breath. “She’s at ninety-three right now, and she’s the reason you’re so cold. We’ve got to warm the two of you up right away.” 

“F-f-fine with me,” Cynara managed through chattering teeth. 

*** *** *** 

Two hours later, wrapped in heating blankets, Cynara felt worse. The chill didn’t abate, and worse, it stayed at the shivering level, never warming down, never getting cold enough to numb out. She shook under the covers and could tell from Josie’s worried face that matters weren’t going well. 

It didn’t help that the impressions from Nira were still radiating discomfort, and the guilt made Cynara snappish. She shifted from side to side on the hospital bed, trying to clench her teeth to keep them from chattering. “Gah! I was p-p-prepared for cramps and back p-pain, but this s-s-sucks!” 

“We’re doing what we can,” Josie assured her firmly, “and I’m right here, ‘Nara.” 

“I know, I kn-kn-know, I just wish Loki w-w-was,” came the growl. 

“That makes two of us. Thor is out looking for him right now,” Josie sighed. “Any idea where that last rock came from?” 

Cynara shook her head; the effort of talking was getting to be too much. Josie checked the IV line and muttered something about heating the next bag of saline when a commotion made both women look towards the door. Thor’s voice was recognizable, but the figure striding in, dusty and furious, was the god of mischief. Loki paused; Cynara noticed that one of his sleeves was completely shredded from wrist to shoulder, and that his face was seriously grimy. “Wife.” 

He tried to move towards her but Josie bounced in front of him, blocking his way. “NO. Go wash yourself right now!”  
Before Loki could argue, Cynara spoke up. “Sh-she’s right, Husband. Hurry th-th-though.” 

With a glare at the doctor, Loki reluctantly stepped back and out, boots loud on the tiles. Josie stared after him, calling, “Have him use the antibacterial soap and I want this hallway sanitized _immediately!_ ” 

Cynara laughed despite herself since it was clear Josie had been dying to yell at _someone._ When she turned back, Cynara pointed a finger at her. “Felt good, don’t d-d-deny it.” 

“Yes it did, although your husband smells like manure. Baby’s pulse is up, so she probably knows daddy is here.”  
Cheered, Cynara settled back and waited, trying to send soothing thoughts to the squirmy lump inside her. Nearly forty minutes later Loki strode in again, clearly furious at having to wear hospital scrubs, and tossing the mask and hairnet aside. 

“Wife, explain to your minions that I do not have these ‘germs’ that everyone cowers from, immediately!” 

“L-Loki,” she began, but Josie once again stepped forward, bristling. 

“Listen, pal, you may be a god, but this is MY domain and you’ll do what I tell you,” came the flat menacing tone. “Right now your wife and daughter are having some problems and I don’t need you to aggravate the situation with a bunch of bullshit demands. Either shut up and help or get the hell OUT.” 

The glare between them could have melted titanium, but gradually Loki shifted and sighed. “I yield to your wisdom, midwife. What is wrong?” 

“In a nutshell the baby needs the chill but your wife needs heat.” Josie waved Loki over and pointed to images of the last thermal scan on the computer screen. “Right now neither one of them is happy, and I’m running out of options. We could do a Caesarian but I’m not quite ready to consider that just yet.” 

“Jotunn,” Loki murmured, looking at the image raptly. “My bloodline runs true. There may be a way . . .” 

Turning he shifted over to Cynara’s bedside and reached for her hand as he leaned down for a quick kiss. She took both, and the minute her skin touched his, felt her shivering stop. Startled, Cynara nearly let go, but Loki wrapped his other hand around hers to prevent it, and spoke softly to her. “Do you remember when your heat saved me, back when the dragon had poisoned my body? I can do the same for you now, Wife. Through that small part of you that carries Ice Giant, I can let my coolness help.” 

“Yeah?” was all Cynara could say. Across the room Josie was listening to the change in pitch of various monitors and studying readouts.  
“Yes, yes, this is looking better. What are you doing?” 

“I am . . . helping,” Loki replied tersely, clearly unable to clarify. Cynara gripped his fingers firmly as she felt a wave of happiness rising from the baby within her. 

“Let’s not ask for complicated explanations right now okay? I feel a whole lot better and the baby seems too as well. So, where were you, Husband?” 

Loki shifted himself to lean against the bed, flashing her a smile. “A strange part of Midgard, truly. Vast, hot plains with few people and many beasts. The serpents there bowed to me, and the wolves sang my praises to the full moon, but the _others_ . . .” here he looked annoyed. “They would not heed my commands. One in particular proved most trying, and we battled for a while.” 

“You . . . battled an animal?” Remembering his sleeve, Cynara looked up at Loki, fearful and amused at the same time. “Um, why?” 

“He did not show me proper respect,” came the disgruntled answer. “But I was _not_ afraid of his nose spears or thick armor, and was just about to make him my mount when Thor arrived.” 

Cynara looked at Josie, who was biting her lips to keep from laughing. “You were going to ride a . . . rhinoceros? 

“I will return to claim him,” Loki announced proudly. “He will inspire fear in my enemies.” 

“No shit,” Josie muttered. “Good luck getting a saddle on him. ‘Nara, how are you feeling?” 

“Crampy but not cold,” Cynara murmured. “A lot better.” 

“Good. Whatever your husband is doing to stabilize your temperature is working.” 

For a while none of them spoke, and Cynara let herself relax enough to feel slightly drowsy. She wove her fingers with Loki’s and looked up at him and finally spoke. “Thank you for the runes. It’s been . . . interesting reading them.” 

“So many bragging of their endowments,” Loki murmured. “I wanted to make you laugh.” 

“Well I did. Fury would be pissed if he knew the front lawn of the outpost is now full of dick graffiti.” She took in a deep breath as a cramp began to build, moving from the small of her back to her stomach. “Ooooohhhh.” 

“And there we go,” Josie murmured, snapping on a latex glove. “I’m just going to check you . . .” 

Grumpily Cynara allowed it, glared at Loki, who looked as if he wanted peek under the drape to watch. “No.” 

“Consider it a sign of my caring.” 

“No.” 

“Shush,” Josie muttered. “Okay, last time I checked you were dilated about four centimeters but now you’re up to six, so things are definitely on the fast track. I know you don’t want to hear this, but you’re lucky—most first-time mothers spend _hours_ at this stage.” 

“When I foaled Sleipnir,” Loki began, but Cynara squeezed his fingers as hard as she could and for once he took the hint. 

Josie noted something on a chart and rose, rubbing the small of her back, managing a smile. “All right. I’m going to grab something to eat and let everyone out there know what’s going on. I’ll be back in a little while. If you need the bathroom just be careful of your IV and the fetal monitor, okay?” 

Cynara nodded, watching her leave the room, and looked around, realizing it was nearly dark. “Wow, it’s late. I didn’t realize how long I’ve been here already.” 

“Time will seem strange for both of us for a while. The distortion of Haliastur’s lair lingers,” Loki murmured. “I blame myself for that.” 

“I blame you too,” Cynara replied dryly, and countered it with a quick grin, “but I knew you were trouble before I married you, so it’s my fault as well.” 

“Yes,” Loki agreed, his own smirk a little wry. “Although our children will make matters slightly more complicated.” 

“Child. _One,_ unless you’re including Sleipnir in the group here. Unnnnngghhhhh . . .” she trailed off, rubbing her abdomen. “That hurt.” 

Loki squeezed her hand in sympathy. 

*** *** *** 

The hours rolled on, and Cynara found herself exhausted. The contractions grew in strength, and between them she dozed, still clinging to Loki’s hand. She wasn’t cold now, even though her body temperature was far below normal, but at least Nira was comfortable, if reluctant to be born.  
Just after dawn the contractions started coming hard, in rolling waves of pressure that added more pain to muscles already aching. Cynara refused to yell, preferring to grunt and keep Loki’s hand in a death grip. 

To his credit he didn’t verbally complain, although occasionally he winced. Josie, frazzled-haired but focused, kept an eye on them both and by mid-morning she was urging Cynara to bear down through the contractions. “Come on, you can do this, you _know_ you can.” 

“I’m . . . _trying!_ ” Cynara chuffed, feeling surly by now. “Why don’t you just skip the middle man and talk to the _kid!_ ” 

“She is frightened,” Loki broke in quietly. “She knows this is painful for you, Wife.” 

Cynara turned to look at him, sweaty and near tears. “No . . . it’s okay. Tell her it’s okay, tell her we _have_ to do this!” 

“We must both tell her.” Loki laid his free hand on Cynara’s belly. She took a breath and tried to focus, pushing aside her own frustration and discomfort. _Come on sweetie. I want to see you. Your father wants to hold you. Just work with me here, all right? We’ll be fine._

For a few minutes nothing happened, and Cynara felt the oncoming squeeze of another contraction building up. She glanced up at Loki, who was just as gaunt-faced and sleepless as she felt and caught the fleeting expression of honest fear in his face. It shocked Cynara, and she tugged on his fingers to get his attention. “We’re . . . fine!” she reminded him. “This is how it goes, H-h-huuuuuuusbannnnnnd!” came her groan through the roll of pressure tightening every muscle in her torso. The shift came instantly, and she pushed again, hard, barely aware of Josie’s encouragement or of Loki’s arm around her shoulders as she curled up and squeezed. 

Too. Much. Pressure--- and then Cynara felt something heavy and cold slide out between her thighs, accompanied by icy wetness. She opened her eyes, trying to focus on Josie and the squalling little bundle in the doctor’s arms. Trying to catch her breath she demanded, “B-baby?” 

“Girl,” Josie shot back, working to wipe down the little uncooperative figure. “Feisty too. She’s cool, so I’m guessing that’s normal, but I don’t know whether to put her under the heat lamp or not. Loki?” 

"Wrap her and give her to us,” he ordered, his tone soft. 

“Okay, but first a few checks . . .” Moving swiftly, Josie weighed, measured, tested, and finally passed the baby over to Cynara, grinning. “Congratulations. Seven pounds three ounces, twenty inches, our first interspecies infant.”  
Cynara looked down at her wrinkled slightly periwinkle daughter and smiled. “Hello sweetie.” 

The baby wriggled and looked up, and when she did so, Cynara felt giddy bubbles of happiness flit through her consciousness, a joy that not only echoed her own, but magnified it. Loki reached down to stroke the infant’s cheek, his long finger pale against her skin. 

“Well _done_ , Wife. Welcome to Midgard, little mischief.” 


End file.
